


Moving Still

by Alethia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Girls Who Save Themselves, Hunters & Hunting, Monsters, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-18
Updated: 2007-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:50:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re in a cage,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and also, was something <i>wrong</i> with him?</p>
<p>His girlfriend was dead, his father was missing, and he wasn’t taking finals right now. So yeah, pretty much.</p>
<p>Sam nodded, but continued on anyway: “Yeah, but, when we get out of the cage—”</p>
<p>“<i>Then</i> you’ll save me? God, what kind of hero complex do you have?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving Still

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in season 1, not far in. My thanks to guede_mazaka for the help. Originally posted on LJ [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/255282.html).

Dean groaned and it just made the stabbing pain in Sam’s head all the worse. The last thing he remembered—well, he was vertical back then, he was pretty sure. Not slumped and borrowing the chill from the ground, anyway. Also, he didn’t have a headache that made death seem kind. 

Oh, for those days.

Sam heard Dean shifting, close. It was the slide of layers of cotton against skin, the scrape of a boot as he got purchase. And then the whoof of a breath suddenly released when Dean gave up and slumped back down, the fight not yet in him. 

“You alive?” Sam asked lowly, opening his eyes and turning his head at a speed molasses would _own_ because he knew how head injuries worked and maybe, just maybe, he could avoid more pain to write home about.

“Do I get a choice?” Dean grunted. “My head _hates_ me. My head is currently building toward a blood feud with me,” he whined. Dean lay on his back, such as he could, glaring at the ceiling like it had insulted their mother, and most assuredly not moving.

“Impressive head there, bro. What happened?” Sam asked. Dean turned his head—just his head—and blinked at him in a way that was nothing short of winceworthy.

“Dude, you all right?” Sam leaned in to peer at him more closely and ow, probably not the best thing to be moving after being knocked out, but Dean could have a concussion and that could be—

“No,” Dean said obviously, this time like _Sam_ had insulted their mother. “On a scale of one to ten my head is at about a fifty-seven million and climbing to infinity,” he grumbled, rolling over and onto all fours and breathing shallowly. 

“You can never reach infinity,” Sam said, picking the most important part of that statement to comment on. He fell back onto his ass, hard metal at his back, gritting his teeth and sucking in a breath at the way motion seemed to scrape some very sharp object across the base of his skull, spreading little white dots and oh, yeah, _pain_ across all his nerve endings.

“Thought my head was impressive like that,” Dean muttered, still on his hands and knees and looking at the floor like it could give him strength, just give him strength and he could get through this. 

Or possibly that was Sam projecting.

Sam huffed out a belated laugh—synapses not firing right now, obviously, and did there really need to be a humiliating middle-ground in head injuries? Couldn’t it just be unconsciousness or death? At least then he’d be left with some diginity—and then he sobered. Because there was _metal_ at his back.

“Fuck, that thing did a number on us,” Dean groaned and slumped to his side, looking at the bars…of a cage.

A metal cage, even. That they had been stuffed into after _something_ had put _some kind_ of whammy on them.

Really, the amount of information they had was incredibly impressive. Almost as impressive as Dean’s head.

“Did you see it?” Sam got himself standing mostly by locking his legs and pushing, his body having absolutely no choice in the movement, despite his head screaming fire at him. He scanned the very empty room, blinking his stinging eyes, not used to the smoke. They were still in the cave, still with the fire burning in the far corner, now in a cage. That took intelligence and that meant it had a plan. The girls had gotten out, but he and Dean had been less lucky, it seemed.

Dean was having a little trouble adjusting to consciousness but hey, wasn’t like they were going anywhere.

And how goddamn typical. Another of their little detours while finding Jess’ killer and now they were stuck in a cage. If it weren’t life-threatening Sam would laugh at how appropriate this was.

“No. One minute girls are kissing me and the next I’m waking up next to you with a headache that makes the friggin’ Grand Canyon look like a crack in the pavement.” Sam looked back at him just as Dean levered himself up, visibly pushing the pain away, taking a deep breath as his hands gripped at the bars. His knuckles were white, Sam noticed in the small corner of his mind not occupied with how very bad this was. 

“Hmm, you’ve been less helpful, but I can’t quite remember when…” Sam said, contemplating how these bars were _metal_ and _strong_. 

It was too much to ask that they were made of tinfoil and this was all some elaborate joke?

Much like his life, really.

“Getting you laid. That was a pretty miserable experience, if I do say so myself.”

“And your help was much appreciated.”

“The things I do for you and the thanks I get,” Dean grumbled, equilibrium returning, like snarking with his little bro had restorative powers or something. Wouldn’t be Dean’s weirdest quirk by far.

“ _Thank you_ , Dean, for hauling me into a strip club and asking which was my type. One of the best moments of my life,” Sam said, sarcasm thick as honey. And pretty equally satisfying, actually.

“Well, now that you’re properly appreciative, wanna help me figure out how we get out of this thing?”

Agreeing to put that to bed for now, Sam turned back to the bars of the cage and the cave beyond. “What _is_ this thing?” Sam asked. He shook his head at the bizarreness of his life. Because, yeah, cage.

Dean waited for a beat, looking at Sam obviously. “A cage?” he asked. He waved a hand in front of Sam’s face, like he was making sure Sam was still with him in the land of the sight-enabled.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Thank you for the startlingly insightful observation. I meant, what kind of cage and what’s it doing here?”

Dean shrugged and winced, which Sam took to mean the pain was still as present with Dean as it was with him. But like their training told them: ignore it until they weren’t in mortal danger anymore. That was _such_ an easy lesson to learn when you were five, too. 

Dean finally focused his attention to the task at hand, trailed his eyes along the metal bars, up to the frame, following it along. “A cage to keep things in?” he asked, moving to the other side of the small space, maybe seven feet by five feet total, but a good ten feet tall. Brilliant observations, those were his brother’s stock in trade.

“Wow, Dean. You’re just on today, aren’t you?”

Dean turned back to him, pointing up to the where the bars met the roof. “I don’t see you finding the little markings, genius.”

“What markings?” Sam asked. And why hadn’t he found them? 

Dean flashed him a charming grin. “Exactly.” And Sam could see them now, little characters running across the metal just under the ceiling. Dean ran a dirty finger over them like that would make the little symbols magically translate themselves at his touch.

Shockingly, they did not.

“Looks like Chinese to me,” Dean mumbled. He pressed at the markings again with careful fingers.

Sam moved close behind him, getting a better look. “Such an expert on that language you are.”

Dean dropped his hand and used it to nail Sam in the stomach. With not a little bit of force. Ow. He looked back over his shoulder, green eyes more annoyed at that dig than any other. Education always was a sore spot. “Hey, if there’s one thing I know, it’s Chinese food. And those characters look familiar.” 

“Lemme see.” Sam hauled him out of the way and squeezed into the corner. He pushed at them the same way Dean had, the metal cool to the touch, the pads of his fingers testing the indentations there.

“Already tried it, dude. They’re not gonna transform with touch. Well, not unless you’ve been playing around with shit I don’t know about.”

Sam ignored him and looked out at the cave, not really seeing the dirt and rocks, the depressing black walls. “So, we’ve been chasing a monster that maybe came from China and now we’re stuck in a cage that looks like it was made in China.”

“Isn’t everything made in China these days?” Dean asked, like the duh factor there was too obvious _not_ to point out.

Sam rounded on Dean, shaking his head at him. The fire cast Sam’s shadow over him, slightly obscuring his features. “You can’t possibly think it’s a coincidence.”

“Oh, do tell, genius-boy. Is China the world headquarters of cage-making?” Dean asked, blinking like he was waiting for Sam to enlighten him.

“Yeah, Dean. Totally,” Sam stated flatly. He squared off against him. Dean flicked his eyes up and down Sam’s frame, asking a challenging ‘really?’ both with the motion and the insolent slant of his shoulders. Dean was great with body movement that way; his posture communicated far more than his words, and he knew how to use it. Sam had seen him do so on marks, on cops, those on the receiving end getting the signals without fully grasping _why_.

He used it now, too, but Sam had had some practice with Dean; Sam had annoyed him beyond brotherly banter and now approached pissed off territory. Usually it took longer.

With no response from Sam, Dean stiffened and glared. “Then stop riding my ass and try to help. God, you’re such a bitch sometimes. It’s like having a little sister.”

Sam felt this jaw tense and he could call Dean out on that one…but what was the point? It wasn’t about to get them out of here any faster. It wasn’t about to find Jess’ killer any faster. So he let it go, sucking in the remnants of smoke and mold and releasing it slowly. He held Dean’s gaze, but softened his voice. Marginally. “All I’m saying is that it’s convenient.”

Dean’s shoulders loosened and his face smoothed out a little from that pinched look he’d gotten. “Fine, it’s convenient. Now how are we getting out of here?”

Sam looked around—nothing on the ground close enough to use, nothing in the cage, their packs over on the other side of the room, tossed casually beside a grouping of rocks—and then met Dean’s eyes. “Magic powers?”

Dean breathed out a laugh and nodded, shadows pulling away from his face and then returning. “Yeah.” He paused, forehead crinkling in thought. “Dude, if I had _anything_ from that pack, hell, even the trunk. A knife, a carabiner, the lock-picking kit I really need to start carrying around on me…”

“The bunny slippers?” Sam offered. 

“Are you kidding? I’d kill for those. Those sunglasses are molded plastic. I could so pick this lock with those.”

Seeming to remember the lock, Dean knelt down and fingered it. “Honest-to-God padlock to go with an honest-to-God cage. Unbelievable,” he muttered. 

“Someone obviously hates us,” Sam said lowly. He leaned against the bars and shoved his hands in his pockets. Nope, nothing in there that would help. And no way out of here. 

“You, maybe. I’ve been nothing but a total angel in my time on Earth,” Dean returned. He released the lock in disgust. The metal clang was loud in the space, the crackling of the fire and their breathing its only accompaniment.

He could really do with some Metallica right now. Anything to distract his mind from how not moving they were, the two of them as useless at finding Jess’ killer as they were at getting themselves out of a cage. 

Was that pathetic? Probably.

Nothing new, then.

Sam laughed. It started out waving at light but soon turned bitter as the smoke he tasted. And there was _nothing_ he could do about it. Nothing he could do about Dean inevitably noticing that minute change, important for how small it was.

“What?” Dean asked, watching him warily, moving slightly over and into the light. Watching him like he was about to lose his shit. Such stunning confidence there.

Sam waved a hand that encapsulated their space. “This. It’s like the perfect metaphor for my life.”

Dean’s face stayed stubbornly neutral. “Stuck in a cage with me?”

Sam laughed some more and nodded, ignoring the flare-up in his head, ignoring the way his face kind of hurt, his eyes throbbing like they were too big for their sockets. “Yeah, yeah. Trapped, out of control, and no way out. Not going anywhere.”

The little lines at the corners of Dean’s eyes tightened. “You’re completely twisting—”

“Because if you’re standing still you’re not moving forward,” Sam continued on, thinking aloud. And really, it was perfect. It was so perfect it had to be a cosmic joke.

Dean rolled his eyes and it made Sam want to goad him some more, press him into _doing_ something instead of just placating him over and over again. ‘We’ll find Jess’ killer, let’s just take this side-trip first. No worries, Sammy, you’re my first priority.’ 

Right. And now they were stuck in a cage.

“Wow, Sammy. First-rate thinking, there. No wonder you did so well—”

“Shh!” Yeah, that wasn’t a normal hush. That was a ‘there’s a predator coming our way so unless we wanna meet an abrupt end, we gotta cover our asses’ kinda hush. Animals were such advanced thinkers like that. 

Thankfully, Dean, after many long years, knew when Sam was just trying to shut him up and when he was actually serious. Since this was the latter, he actually did shut up.

They both stiffened when they heard the loud footfalls, not exactly earth-shaking, but not stealth. By any means.

“That’s not good,” Dean muttered. His face cleared as he looked toward the entrance to the cave, nothing but focused calm there now. Sam turned and followed his lead, watching the jagged, asymmetrical opening like it would spell out some answers if only they watched closely enough.

A flat grey rock at the very base moved, more like twitched, honestly, settling back onto the pebbles beneath. But it was enough.

“Quick! Get down,” Sam hissed, dropping to the floor of the cage and sprawling in what he hoped was an approximation of a knocked-over-the-head-into-oblivion position.

Dean grunted and followed suit, kicking at Sam’s legs like a petulant schoolboy. Sam kicked back, satisfied when Dean winced. 

“Freakin’ Sasquatch,” Dean breathed. He shoved a knee into Sam’s thigh and rolled onto his side so he could get a look.

They both stilled when they saw what looked very much like a Sasquatch walk in, the limp form of a girl slung over its shoulder. Her brown hair hung over face, swaying with each step it took. Fashionable clothes, a body, and Sam bet Dean would be hitting on her before this was over. Would probably succeed, too.

‘Cause that was also all in the hunt to find Jess’ killer. 

But really, Sam wished him luck with that seeing as how she was currently being molested by a big, white, furry…thing.

Sam kept his eyes shuttered and watched as it dropped the girl into the very hollow where he and Dean had found all the other girls. Securing her hands in the manacles, the thing sniffed at her, grunted, and turned back around.

It gave their cage a long, measuring, _intelligent_ look before it walked back out again.

“Huh,” Dean said into the silence, after the footfalls had faded and enough time had passed. “Bigfoot did it.” 

Sound rushed in again—birds calling, bushes rustling just outside— _life_ returning, irrepressible at is always was. Sam sprung to standing, kicking Dean a couple of times totally on accident, before he was grasping the bars and focusing on the girl.

“Hey,” Sam hissed.

She didn’t respond.

“This how you usually approach women?” Dean asked. He stood and leaned next to Sam, pressed into the metal bite of the bars. “No wonder you never get laid.”

Sam ignored him. “Hey!” he tried again, the sound reverberating maybe a little too loud in the cave. But it worked; the girl moaned a little, her head flopping over as she rolled onto her back. He earrings trailed down, little sparkles of light reflecting their brilliance against her skin.

Dean made a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat and Sam didn’t even want to know what thoughts ran through his mind right now.

“Hey! You all right?” Sam asked, trying to will her back to consciousness. At least she was alive. That was something.

She finally woke and her body stiffened as she breathed in sharply. “This isn’t right,” she mumbled, Sam just able to hear it.

“Really? Waking up on a dirty, gravel-ridden cave floor isn’t a usual Tuesday? Huh,” Dean muttered. And it wasn’t like this was a big cave. She could _hear_ them.

Or so Sam assumed by the quick glance in their direction, the narrowing of pale blue eyes, which then widened at recognition of the chains around her wrists, the cage around them maybe.

“What the—”

“You’re gonna be fine,” Sam started, tone trying to go for soothing and hopefully, maybe getting there.

“Yeah, just ignore the fact that you’re being held captive by a ten-foot-tall man-beast. You’re totally good,” Dean chimed in and _that_ got her moving.

She scrabbled up to her feet instantly, already tugging at the manacles, connected to heavy chains bolted to the wall. The other girls had tried, to no avail, but she didn’t know that. 

Good. She obviously wanted to live and was willing to do something about it.

She had a scrape on her temple, probably where she’d fallen, and she touched it with a wince. Her hand came away with blood that was just starting to dry. Some had already gotten on her pale blue shirt, bright red stains that would soon brown. Those wouldn’t come out, he knew. 

“Where am I?” Her voice was gravelly. It even sounded like it hurt her to talk. Not that it stopped her. “What’s going on? Why am I chained up? What the—”

Sam cut her off. He knew this only led to hysterics and wanted to avoid a messy scene. “Don’t worry about it. We’re gonna get you out of here.” He held his hands out and lowered them in an effort to bring her down. 

She stopped struggling, looking at them oddly.

“You’re in a cage,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and also, was something _wrong_ with him?

His girlfriend was dead, his father was missing, and he wasn’t taking finals right now. So yeah, pretty much.

Sam nodded, but continued on anyway: “Yeah, but, when we get out of the cage—”

“ _Then_ you’ll save me? God, what kind of hero complex do you have? And what the hell is going on? Last thing I remember I was avoiding my geology prof and looking for ‘shrooms.” She ran a hand through her hair and pulled it back, getting a better look at the cave as she shook her head. The chains rattled with her movements, metal clanks at odds with a bird screeching outside the cave.

“ _Oh_. It might be love,” Dean said next to him and wow, Sam so didn’t need to hear him make that sound. Ever.

Sam looked over at Dean…and then hit him in the shoulder. Hard. “Dude,” Sam said, glaring at him. This was so not the time to be cataloguing her nice curves, pretty face, _excellent_ lips. Sam could _read_ it off his face, hear the litany in his head. Someone he could ‘get to know.’

“Dude,” Dean protested as he rubbed at his shoulder.

“Not the time,” Sam growled and shot a look back at the girl…and they should really fix that.

“What’s your name?” Sam asked kindly.

She was having none of it, cocking her head in a way that was, well, cocky. “Sam. Want my digits, too?” she asked, mock-sweet.

He felt Dean do the half-shrug thing. “Hot girl named Sam? That’s gonna get awkward.” Sam ruthlessly ignored him. 

“This is Dean,” Sam introduced. “I’m Sam. We don’t know how yet, but we’re gonna get you out.”

“Sure, I’ll just hang around until you figure it out,” she said as she held up her hands. She started working on the manacles again, twisting her hand as she held onto the cuff, then trying it another way.

“Unless you’ve been practicing dislocating your thumb, that’s not gonna work. Others have tried. I’d save yourself the bruises. Unless you like that kinda thing,” Dean added as he grinned and kinda lifted on his toes. Sam didn’t know how it was obscene, but it _was_.

Her gaze shot to Dean’s, narrowing considerably. She had a smear of dirt across one cheek. “Others? What, you kidnap girls and then watch?”

“Yeah, doing it from a cage just heightens the experience. Bars frame you so perfectly.” Dean held up his hands in a frame and winked at her through it.

“What he means is we’re prisoners, too,” Sam said, trying for soothing again despite how much Dean was _helping_.

“Prisoners of what?” she asked. Worried eyes blinked at them, even as her hands continued working at the manacles.

Good point.

“Bigfoot?” Dean asked Sam, like an offering.

“You ever heard of a white Bigfoot?” Sam shot back.

“Maybe it’s really old and all its fur turned grey.”

“Oh, yeah, let’s go with that theory.”

“Wow, I’m so not depending on you two geniuses to get me out of here,” Sam said. She gave up on working the manacles, instead scanning the floor around her.

Dirt and maybe some small rocks. Nothing that could be used to pick the lock. He and Dean had already swept it.

“Actually, Sam here is a genius. I’m just pretty,” Dean said and when Sam shot him a look, he was definitely ogling her ass as she bent over to tug at her boot. Dean bit his lip and Sam looked away. And not at her ass, either.

“It’s definitely something organic,” Sam said, continuing their earlier conversation.

“Which means it can be killed…and that’s really all I care about,” Dean said. He continued to watch Sam as she took off her boot and sat down to do something with it.

“But why’s it keeping us prisoner? Why not just kill us outright? And especially why _us_ when it seems to be collecting girls?” Sam asked aloud, running through it all in his head. He fiddled with the sleeve of his coat, glad to have something to focus on. Something to keep his attention.

“You’re pretty, remember?” she called out as she ripped her boot apart. “Maybe it got confused.”

“Damn straight I’m pretty,” Dean muttered. “What are you doing?” he called to her, interest bleeding all over his voice. Yeah, he liked the ones who didn’t need their help.

“I’m hungry; I thought I’d start by eating my buffed leather boot,” she said.

“Wow, I’ve heard of girls with healthy appetites…”

Her head shot up and she pierced Dean with another glare, before she was back to concentrating on the matter at hand. The matter at hand being the destruction of her trendy boots. And wow, Dean was already doing so well with her.

He had criticized _Sam’s_ strategy with women?

“I’m guessing neither of you pretty, pretty princesses have girlfriends. Or know anything about women’s shoes,” she said. She started to twist the heel of her boot back and forth then hit it against the wall of the cave for good measure. She hooked the heel into a crevice and bent it back.

No. No girlfriend. Not anymore.

So much for something else to focus on.

“No, I am a free man,” Dean said. He grinned and lounged against the bars. “I’m all yours, however you like me.”

“In that cage is fine, thanks.” She grunted and pushed harder.

“Kinky,” Dean shot back.

Sam slapped the bars of the cage, the sting in his hand possibly a reminder that yeah, _metal_ , and also, he shouldn’t do that. But that was secondary. “Women’s shoes! The shank,” he said as his mind tripped over something Jess had once said. A complaint about all the high heels. 

And she still helped him, even now. Even as he was so hopelessly stuck.

His name counterpart stopped dismantling her boot and regarded them. “Maybe your boy is a genius,” she said to Dean before she went right back to what she was doing. Her skin had gotten a little shiny from the exertion—and possibly the head wound—and she almost glowed in the firelight.

“Um, huh?” Dean asked.

“High-heeled boots have a metal strip in them,” Sam said, impressed with her thinking. That she _was_ thinking and not freaking out. She didn’t really need them to save her.

“Yeah, but what’s she gonna do with it once she gets it?” Dean asked.

“You learn the most interesting things when your dad’s a locksmith,” she said. She gritted her teeth as the sound of ripping reached them. “Yes,” she hissed triumphantly, the sound hitting him somewhere low and primal. Dean noticed, too, eyeing her with that calculating look he sometimes used when he found something…intriguing.

She carefully pried something from the boot. It caught the light as she pulled it out, a strip of metal thin enough to actually be useful.

“Yeah, but you need another—” Dean started to protest.

“I am so glad this shirt gapes open,” she muttered. She reached down to the bottom of the v of her shirt to fiddle there. She twisted her hands and the shirt parted a little wider.

“Nice,” Dean said lowly as they both caught sight of full curves and a black, lacy bra. 

Sam looked away for a breath and then back again, at her hand this time. She held a safety pin glinting in the light. “Huh,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed.

“Guess there are some times being a girl is useful.”

“Yeah.”

It was awkward because one hand had to bend at an uncomfortable angle, but damn if she didn’t pick first one lock and then the second more quickly than the first.

Her other boot came off, tossed aside without care, and she hopped up and wiped off her ass. On which Dean’s eyes would be invariably fixed. 

“I appreciate the offer of a rescue, boys, but I think I’m good,” she drawled, all cocky and satisfied. And damn if she didn’t look kind of impressive, even as she wandered around the cave in socks.

Wandered _out_ the cave in socks.

“Hey!” Dean called, like his eyes and his brain weren’t quite on the same page. “A little help here?”

She turned to them, brown hair gone a little red, reflecting the fire, sweeping across her cheek. Her eyes held shadows, depths he couldn’t read. She shrugged. “I thought you guys were coming up with a plan? I’d hate to interrupt you,” she said earnestly.

Dean gripped the bars and wow, he must be really trying to play nice here because that comment hadn’t elicited an immediate comeback.

So Sam stepped in: “Nice thing about plans is they can change. Would you mind?” He gestured to the lock and asked her with his eyes. Nicely instead of checking her out like _some_ people. Who he’d guess were raised in barns if he didn’t know better.

Her face shifted to something serious and she looked back toward the entrance to the cave, grave concern etched in her appearance.

She started toward them.

“Not to be rude or anything and I do think you boys are kinda cute, but I’m not about to die for anyone. I don’t know what that thing had planned for me, but I don’t intend to stick around to find out. So here,” she said and thrust the shank and the bobby pin into Sam’s hands.

And then she turned around and started walking away again, hips swaying confidently.

“Hey!” Dean protested, a second time. Sam could tell his mind warred between distraction at the sight of her ass and pure indignation at her actions.

She turned around and walked backwards, but she was still walking. The black of her bra showed hinted at the v of her shirt with every step. “Your boy sounds like he knows what to do with those. I bet he’ll take about as long as I will in getting that open. So I’m gonna leave him to it and get out of Dodge, if it’s all the same to you.”

“You’re gonna leave us here when we don’t know what that thing wants?” Dean asked, incredulous.

She stopped just at the entrance to the tunnel that would lead her out. The light spilled over her shoulder. Her skin was paler than it had looked in the cage. “I don’t have a pesky hero complex like some people. Good luck,” she said. Then she walked out.

“Unbelievable,” Dean grunted, incensed.

Sam dropped to his knees and started working on the lock. He twisted the pin and shank with practiced ease and gritted his teeth in tense concentration. Now he really did have something to focus on.

“She just left us,” Dean said, like he wanted to commiserate about how unbelievable it was. Some more.

“She gave us the tools to get out,” Sam shot back. He moved the pin just the slightest bit higher—

“You’re defending her? Are you kidding? She didn’t know we’d be able to do it,” Dean shot back.

“She was just looking out for herself,” Sam said. He twisted his wrist a little more and he felt the give and _yes_ —

With a click the lock opened. Sam pulled it out and swung the door wide, stepping out into pure freedom. “There are people out there who can take care of themselves, Dean.”

“And a lot more who can’t,” Dean said as he followed Sam out into the cave.

“And we’ve been stuck in this holding pattern for months. We haven’t found Jess’s killer, we haven’t done much of anything,” Sam continued on, putting his thoughts to words.

Dean shook his head. “We’ve saved a whole lotta people in that time. That’s not for nothing.” 

“But we waste time on things that don’t even matter.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, not caring that he was fluffing it up some more. “Look, we kill this thing, fine. But I need answers, Dean. And I’m not getting them. It’s time to ramp this up.”

“Yeah, sure. We’ll do that. Right after we kill Bigfoot.” Dean grabbed his pack and found his Glock. He cradled it to his chest disturbingly. That was how seriously he was treating this. 

“I’m serious, Dean.”

Dean clicked off the safety. “So am I. But now’s not the time. We’re hunting.”

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


End file.
